


Too Much, Not Enough

by multiplelizards



Series: Too Much [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Ficlet, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Yennefer's only mentioned in passing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multiplelizards/pseuds/multiplelizards
Summary: Jaskier is no stranger to violence. He knows what it’s like to be smacked for insolence, for not keeping his mouth shut, for not being the son that his parents wanted. He knows what it’s like to hit and be hit, to draw blood in a bar brawl, to bruise. After Geralt, he certainly knows what it’s like to see blood spill, see flesh part under the blade of a sword or a knife.Jaskier may not be the cheerful, happy facade of a man that he plays at, may be a deeply angry and vindictive man, somewhere at his core, but he is not violent. He cannot understand the impulse to raise his hand against one who draws ire, cannot understand the impulse to draw blood, to make bleed. He prefers sharp words, sharp smiles, sharper wit. Words can hurt just as much as any fist, he knows.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Too Much [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991638
Comments: 46
Kudos: 230





	Too Much, Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This was going somewhere and then abruptly going nowhere. I’m done poking at it, but it’s a, uh, fun little character study, shall we say.

Jaskier is no stranger to violence. He knows what it’s like to be smacked for insolence, for not keeping his mouth shut, for not being the son that his parents wanted. He knows what it’s like to hit and be hit, to draw blood in a bar brawl, to bruise. After Geralt, he certainly knows what it’s like to see blood spill, see flesh part under the blade of a sword or a knife.

Jaskier may not be the cheerful, happy facade of a man that he plays at, may be a deeply angry and vindictive man, somewhere at his core, but he is not violent. He cannot understand the impulse to raise his hand against one who draws ire, cannot understand the impulse to draw blood, to make bleed. He prefers sharp words, sharp smiles, sharper wit. Words can hurt just as much as any fist, he knows.

 _Why can’t you be like your brothers, why can’t you be quiet, why can’t you be_ good.

_Nobody wants you, you’re too much. Why can’t you be less loud, less fanciful, less annoying? Less, less, less._

He knows.

It’s why he gives Geralt so much space, sometimes. He knows he’s a lot to handle, knows Geralt wants things he can’t give him, _be quiet, Jaskier, settle down, Jaskier, don’t touch me, Jaskier,_ and sometimes the only way he can handle that is to just. Go.

At first, it hadn’t been as big a deal–Jaskier’s never minded bothering people he doesn’t give a shit about–but when he’d pushed and prodded and made a general nuisance of himself and Geralt has just…accepted it? Had let him tag along, let him write his songs, let him sleep at his fire? Fed him? Washed his laundry along with the rest of his things, simply because they needed washing?

Geralt, for all his blustering about no emotions, cared so much and so deeply, it hurt Jaskier to even think about. And it became…important…that Geralt not be tired of him, that Geralt not want him gone, permanently.

So Jaskier began taking little breaks from their traveling. To give Geralt a break from him.

“I have to play at a festival, Geralt, no you don’t need to escort me, I can make it myself, thanks.”

“I’ll be taking on a retainer with the local baron for a season, no need to check up on me, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m spending the summer teaching at Oxenfurt this year, have fun in Velen, you old scamp.”

And Geralt–good, lovely, kind Geralt–believed every word, true or not, and let him go.

The better friends, the more Jaskier cared about Geralt, the _less_ time he allowed himself with him. After the djinn, after Yennefer, he allowed himself even less time, hyper-aware of how much the sorceress meant to Geralt, how little he seemed to mean, in comparison. He didn’t hate the witch, not really. She was _perfect,_ everything Jaskier was not. Pretty, feminine, powerful, strong. Immortal. Things Geralt needed that Jaskier simply couldn’t give him. She made that small, angry, vindictive thing in him twist and shriek, but that anger wasn’t at _her,_ he didn’t hate _her._ No.

So Jaskier avoids her, for the hate, the self-loathing, that boils in his blood at the sight of her, avoids Geralt, for the tender, heartbroken lurch in his chest he feels constantly, _constantly_ in his presence. He can’t be a problem, for himself or for Geralt, if he’s not around, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my [tumblr](https://writinglizards.tumblr.com/).


End file.
